


A Cold Embrace

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: Outlast One-Shots [34]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Camerashipping, M/M, Prostate Massage, Surprise Cuddling, Surprise Kissing, Surprise Sex, Tentacle Sex, Urethral Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-18 05:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13093572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: A Camerashipping request for Waylon x Miles!Rider tentacle sex.I had four different requests for this so here it is.Here is my take on it.





	A Cold Embrace

Despite Waylon telling the brunette time and time again that he didn’t like midnight cuddles when he was possessed, didn’t stop Miles from squishing up against him in the middle of the night every night. The cold shadows rolling off of his body to surround the still very human Waylon in a chill that seeped down to his core. It would take the blonde male the entirety of the next day just to get warm in time for Miles to do it all over again. This of course wasn’t entirely Miles’ fault since the Walrider had a perverse infatuation with him that bordered on disturbing. That border was not only crossed but obliterated when Miles returned to their hotel late one evening after a long night of prowling and doing copious amounts of research. Waylon had just taken a break from his own research and sat his laptop aside to charge so he could use it when he got up. Deciding to rest his eyes for a bit, he rolled over onto the stiff uncomfortable mattress, starting to allow himself to drift to sleep when he heard the door opening and closing.

 

The familiar static hum of the male’s presence alerted him that there was no danger in the entry. Or at least, not the kind Waylon was afraid of. Either way, it was an unwelcome presence when the cold swarm settled beside him, the shifting of the mattress from Miles’ body weight and the pressure against his back. He felt the chilled tendrils snaking across the sheets to curl around his form, this wasn’t unusual of course, having happened in the past when Miles or the Walrider wished for companionship in a chilly embrace. Only this time the tendrils didn’t cease their advances at just curling around him. They began to explore and intrude upon the thin layers of clothing guarding his body.

 

“Miles, cut it out.” Waylon grumbled, pushing back against a couple of the tendrils weaving around his arms and venturing across his torso to curl around the other limb. Waylon turned his head when his words weren’t heeded only to find a pair of depthless black pits staring back at him, glowing with a chilling light that made his blood turn to ice. Waylon swallowed thickly as he opened his mouth to speak in protest only to have a shadowy black tendril snake up around his throat and constrict in warning before latching over his mouth. Waylon made a muffled cry, feeling his clothing being pushed off and away from his shivering form as the Walrider continued it’s advances unhindered by either Miles or Waylon’s rebuttals. Pale blue eyes widened in fear as the Walrider growled a low static hum, the ever present sound that often fueled Waylon’s nightmares. The reminder of all the times he’s heard it’s haunting sound echoing throughout the asylum halls.

 

It wore Miles’ handsome face, leaking the black residue from the eyes as was usual whenever it took over it’s host more completely. He knew it wouldn’t last long but whatever damage the creature could inflict was unrivaled even during brief moments. He’s bared witness to that first hand on too many occasions. The tendrils slithered underneath his clothing, making their way across his pale flesh to feel out every inch of the weary canvas. The scars and marks left behind by the Asylum. The residual effects that still lingered from the Morphogenic engine, buzzing around in Waylon’s mind with the Walrider’s presence. It knew, with every flinch the blonde would offer at it’s touches. The look in his eyes, so afraid. Always afraid. It knew that look far too well and so did Miles. Within the brunette was beating against the mental door that the creature had locked to keep him from interfering. This was part of the human’s desires as well. What was driving the creature. A need to replace that fearful expression with something more. Something much more satisfying.

 

The cold wet tendrils found their way beneath Waylon’s boxers and slithered along his taint and around his manhood, drawing shivers throughout his body and more frantic pleas, muffled by the tendril as it slid along his lips and inside his mouth, a small attempt to further silence the male and keep him from biting down on himself with what was to come next. The acrid taste of the creature’s residue coated Waylon’s tongue with the bitter slime that had him making more faces then just his fearful expression. He held back the urge to bite it, knowing it was far too close for comfort and had the upper hand. Should it decide to rip him limb from limb, it could any second. But it didn’t. He furrowed his brows in confusion when the first of the slick tendrils prodded at his entrance. That was a place Waylon wasn’t expecting. He tried to shake his head no but couldn’t get it to move much with the larger tendril holding him firmly in place.

 

Another muffled sound as it pushed inside, it started out small, something not as drastic or painful. It fact, the wet slide and suction felt pleasurable going in, giving small measured thrusts to get his entrance used to the motion. Wearing down the drag and lubricating the tight ring of muscle. The further in the tendril went the more it stretched his tight ring out. Purposely getting larger but the creature was careful. Mindful of its actions and the amount of pressure put into each thrust. A moan escaped Waylon’s lips, his mouth opening wider around the tendril as it drew out, the Walrider no longer feeling the threat of Waylon’s anger. Seeing the look of fear be replaced with something more akin to confusion and surprising pleasure. The other tendrils didn’t release his limbs though since it didn’t want him squirming around too much and harming himself.

 

It leaned closer, wiping away the stray strands of blonde from Waylon’s face to allow more of those pale blue orbs to be seen. The sharp golden gaze fixed almost fondly on him. Miles’ lips pressed to Waylon’s, capturing them in a deep kiss that silenced his sounds, tilting heads and slotting their mouths together, The creature wore Miles’ face and Waylon’s own desires couldn’t deny wanting to give in completely to the journalist. As if he had never fantasized about this moment. All those nights the male found comfort in being pressed up against his body. Arms wrapped around his torso. Mostly they came from behind and Waylon would have a lot of trouble controlling his own hormones from giving him strange ideas and even stranger dreams. If it wasn’t nightmares it was exceedingly embarrassing wet dreams from his own pent up state.

 

What little bits of thought he managed to hold onto was shattered when the cold tendrils slink around to curl up along his hardening shaft. Stroking in a firm and smooth grip while Miles’ hands roamed along his hips and sides. He could feel the nubs where a couple of the digits had once been. The empty space a signature sign in the journalist’s touch. One that Waylon found comforting over the past few months amidst their exploits of survival. Through all the cold interactions, it managed to spark a rising heat bubbling up in his groin as the curious tendrils pushed in deeper, wiggling around like serpents inside him. The wet and slimy appendages were squishy against his insides, pressing up against the heated velvety walls and finding just the right spot that had Waylon melting beneath him. His head tipped back, eyes widening as a whole other jolt of sensation filled him and added to that growing heat in his belly. His body relaxed more, becoming more pliant and accepting as he spread his legs a little further, urging more. A silent request that Waylon’s own pride and what little bit of dignity he had left wouldn’t allow him to voice.

 

The Walrider have a toothy grin that was far too Miles to deny as the hands gripping his hips went to work, with the help of the tendrils, they repositioned Waylon so that he was lying more on his stomach. His knees pressed underneath him and spread wide to support his hips. Miles hands never leaving the soft curves and dips, roaming over them with loving intentions while the tendril inside Waylon withdrew. Clothing was shed from the both of them, what was left on Waylon and Miles’ own jacket and shirt was gone. Due to the darkness around them, Waylon’s tilted head could barely catch a glimpse of the scarred over bullet holes dotting the journalist’s chest.

 

He had little warning before a larger tendril was pressed against his slick hole, pushing in and further stretching his entrance. It wasn't all that larger, it was tight going in but lacking pain and discomfort. It’s thrusting motions were measured to prevent harm and paced with the firmer strokes of Waylon’s member. The tendril curled around his base keeping a tight enough hold to prevent him from cumming. The tip of the appendage rubbed underneath the head of his shaft, caressing the sensitive tip and teasing at his slit. A much smaller tendril made its way to that part once the beads of precum formed from the opening like small white pearls. Pushing the escaping fluid back inside along with the tendril itself snaking down into his urethra. Waylon moaned, startled by this new sensation as both tendrils assaulted his prostate on both sides. Rubbing and pressing against the pleasure spot that had him bucking beneath Miles/Walrider.

 

His fingers clawed at the bedding, pulling at the sheets until they ripped free from the mattress, curling fists into tight balls. He buried his face into the pillow, panting heavily as the pace picked up. The creature rocking it's hips back and forth, rutting up against him. Waylon’s thighs were pressed together after a moment, his toes curled as it clamped down on the squirming tendrils deep inside him, hitting all the right spots and every slow thrust was felt to its fullest. It took the blonde male to realize there was a heat between his thighs, a new sensation settling in as it rubbed back and forth. His pale blue orbs turned down to look between his legs and found Miles throbbing cock rubbing back and forth. Each roll of Walrider’s hips had it grinding up against Waylon’s taint and sack. The tip leaking it's own pearlescent substance to dribble down and dampen the techie’s thighs.

 

“Miles…” Waylon called out, feeling the strong broad chest rest against his back. Strong arms reaching around, relinquishing the hold on his hips as they pulled him up close. One around his waist to hold him lovingly while the other hooked under his arm to trail curious fingers up along Waylon’s chest and caress his throat before they directed his head to tilt sideways. Catching the blonde’s lips in a deep yearning kiss. The fingers receding and Waylon melted into it, rocking his hips back into Miles, to grind into the member behind him and the tendrils working their slippery magic inside him. The journalist’s fingers finding the last little sweet spot on the techie’s body, plucking at the hardening nubs. Red little blossoms begging for some attention. Miles was all too eager to give it. Extending another tendril to work both at the same time.

 

Waylon didn't even have a chance, gasping as his orgasm approached. The small tendril plugging his member withdraw to caress his sack while the pressure relieved from his base. Miles reclaimed Waylon’s lips. Golden eyes open to gaze into the lost expression of needy pleasure. Gasping and clawing at whatever the Tech could get a hold of. A few heroic strokes and rolls of their hips and both men reached completion. Soiling both Waylon’s thighs and the mess of sheets curled around them. Their moans and cries swallowed up by the starved lips connected so sweetly. Only grunts and muffled breaths could be heard swiftly fleeing the brief moments of oxygen.

  
Waylon couldn't fathom when the tendrils left his body, during the swell of emotions that fell between them. A silent plea and strong arms returning an iron clasp hold. Miles turned the techie around so they were chest to chest. What little unspoiled bedding he could find was used to wrap them up together in a tight embrace. The shadows receding as warmth spread between them. A sensation Waylon had craved for so long he now found in the journalist's protective and warm embrace.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you @zeck143 from tumblr for yet another amazing fanart piece! I love it. It's so perfect. Look at that booty. Isn't it amazing?


End file.
